


Where the fireflies won't go

by KinugoshiDofu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Sirius Black, Developing Relationship, Friendship, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Modern Setting, Person of Color Sirius Black, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Werewolf Remus Lupin, Young Marauders, becoming animagi, helpful Sirius Black, nice Sirius Black, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-10 21:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8939962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinugoshiDofu/pseuds/KinugoshiDofu
Summary: Adventures with Sirius Black are unlike any adventure Remus has ever had - and they hurt a lot less than he's used to, too, well, most of the times at least. Sirius’s hair is constantly falling into his face and he’s always holding his wand between his teeth and for some reason Remus is always busting up his knees.Not everything has to be aesthetically pleasing, but that doesn't mean Remus does not find himself thinking about how beautifully those black curls frame his handsome face, and that's just a very silly thing to spend time thinking about.This is the story of how Sirius Black convinces Remus Lupin to brew an illegal potion - and how he finds himself enjoying doing it, too.





	1. As Eleven-year-olds Do

**Author's Note:**

> their ages fucked me up big time, I had to do so much fucking calculating for this thing like wtf wtf wtf. Also after seeing some fanart etc I've been thinking of POC Sirius A LOT. So, think Willy Cartier!Sirius as you read this. Google him, that man is lit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius’s hair is constantly falling into his face and he’s holding his wand between his teeth whilst scribbling onto a piece of parchment. They’re crouched between the solid brick wall and a big troll statue, and it’s dead of winter but Remus isn’t cold. The sound of Sirius’s feather against yellow parchment is the only sound in the empty hallways – Remus points to one of the sidewalls that’s been drawn unusually poorly and crookedly and then turns back to peer between the legs of the troll. He’s on look-out and he takes his appointed job very seriously.

# As Eleven-year-olds Do

He’s eleven years old and mapping out the part of the castle closest near to the astronomy tower with Sirius Black – it’s not awkward, because it’s hasn’t been a full moon recently and the next one is far enough away for there to be no unpleasant personality changes showing.

Sirius’s hair is constantly falling into his face and he’s holding his wand between his teeth whilst scribbling onto a piece of parchment. They’re crouched between the solid brick wall and a big troll statue, and it’s dead of winter but Remus isn’t cold. The sound of Sirius’s feather against yellow parchment is the only sound in the empty hallways – Remus points to one of the sidewalls that’s been drawn unusually poorly and crookedly and then turns back to peer between the legs of the troll. He’s on look-out and he takes his appointed job very seriously.

“Remmi,” it’s all Sirius says, but it’s also all he needs to say because they don’t really need words at this stage in their relationship – it’s been one year of hiding in dark hallways and evading Filch and weird hand movements Sirius swears is actual sign-language and by now Remus can basically hear Sirius’s thoughts as loud and clear as his own.

He brings back his wand to give the raven more light, and there’s a thank you somewhere stuck in Sirius’s throat. It takes another five minutes for Sirius to finish mapping the fake wall and hidden tunnel they had just explored, and then the other boy flopped down onto his arse rather ungracefully, whopping in barely-concealed excitement.

Sirius has turned twelve just the month before and actually Remus has not spent any alone time with him since mere hours before his party, where they had spent two hours together running off into the Forbidden forest – the stars had been really bright and Remus had laughed as Sirius howled at canis majoris which they had just been mapping in class the day before.

Now, Sirius is beaming as he hands over the parchment, ready to have his handiwork double-checked by his friend. There’s a shadow in his eyes and Remus thinks it’s just the lights playing tricks on him, but then he never really knows with Sirius – and he expects that it’s half not-knowing that makes Sirius such a great companion.

That and he makes _really_ stupid jokes which are ridiculously funny.

Remus folds the parchment over his knees and draws his wand over it – Sirius’s lines are, much like he himself, a little sloppy and his handwriting is near illegible, but Remus had become somewhat of a professional at deciphering it.

He sets to double-checking the positions of the walls as Sirius summons a small fire with his own wand, warming his hands to it. In the orange light of the summoned embers Sirius’s cheeks and nose are pink against his amber skin, and Remus realises with a start that the boy was colder than he had thought.

“I really like astronomy,” Sirius says quietly – but only because it’s the middle of the night and they’re out after curfew and he knows Remus will give him a stern talking-to if his chatter gets them caught.

Remus fights the urge to roll his eyes because he’s probably heard the entire array of Sirius-star related jokes _multiple times_ but then again just even the idea that Sirius would seriously repeat the same lame jokes to his friends itself is kind of endearing.

“Yeah, because of the Sirius star, _I know_ ,” he says it in a slightly exasperated tone as if he is sick of hearing the story – which in all honesty, he’s not, really.

Sirius is undisturbed – he’s tracing a crack in the wall with his fingers, and Remus notes that his nails are dirty with black ink.

“What about you?” Sirius hums, and he pokes very decisively at a dip in the stone, “did you notice an increase in your interest in all things moon-related since becoming a werewolf?”

Remus doesn’t really hear him at first because he is getting fussy over the absolutely _awful_ job he is doing at calculating the distance between the very statue they are huddled up behind and the wall they are facing – Sirius has gone all artistic on him and has drawn a very accurate eagle-eye view of the troll but the problem is that there is no space between said troll and the wall for two teenagers to hide yet here they are so that _couldn’t be right_.

The scratching of the quill is the only sound in the hallway for a moment and then it stops rather abruptly when Remus processes the fact that Sirius _knows_.

He is suddenly very aware of all the blood running through his veins and for a moment it’s all he can hear, an odd sort of _rushing sound_ very loud in his head, and he worries that maybe he’s having a panic attack – the raven next to him however is the poster boy for relaxation and he’s pursing his lips and blowing at the little fire he’s created, watching the flames flicker.

Then Remus feels mostly just annoyed, because Sirius _would_ find out about this really deep dark crippling secret people have been carrying with them almost all their life and then he _would_ bring it up like it was nothing more than some light chatter, really, _he would_ and that was more maddening than the whole entire ordeal in itself was.

Two can play that game, Remus decides, and then makes a show out of sighing exasperatedly and scratching out something on the parchment. He says, voice warm like the fire Sirius is playing with, “well I _did_ become really good at drawing moon charts,” he uses his forearm to wipe the hair from his face as both hands are occupied, and then adds as an afterthought, “anyway I was five so I guess I was gonna get better at that no matter what.”

Sirius drums his fingers against the wall. Remus is looking at his knees and he doesn’t want to look up, because sometimes when Sirius is unguarded and free his eyes are like moonlit nights’ oceans and it’s dangerous because Remus has never really been a good swimmer.

“Oh,” Sirius nods in understanding – he shifts around, pulls up his legs to his chest, and then, quietly, “I’d say I’m sorry but… you know.”

“You’re not,” Remus doesn’t need him to say it out loud because he already knows. He finally relents under the pressure and drops his hands down the side of his body, leaning his chin on his knees. He glances at Sirius from the corner of his eyes, just because he can, and notes that he’s gone back to poking at the unmoveable brick wall as if it is key lime Jell-O – _honestly_ , “I guess that if I _really_ have to share this most furriest of secrets with anyone, I’m cool with it being you,” which isn’t a _total lie_ , “Not too cool, because you know, Peter is really good at keeping his mouth shut, but I guess it’s better than James.”

The raven looks rather affronted at that, huffing, insulted – but then, he crinkles his nose and concedes, “fair enough,” and next, “but, you know…” and then he turns towards his younger friend and draws his fingers over his mouth and pretends to lock his lips together at the end – making a clicking noise with his tongue because if Sirius’s mouth _was_ an actual door that could be locked it _would be_ old and rusty and making weird noises from _never having been locked before_ – the sounds echoes eerily in the silent hallway.

Just like that everything has been said – or _hasn’t been_ said – and Sirius bumps his shoulder into his side to hurry him along. A couple of minutes later Remus rolls up the scroll of parchment and puts the quill and ink away in his robe – Sirius’s cheeks are still red.

On their way back to the tower Sirius slings his arm around Remus’ shoulder and puts his nose against his cheek as he tells a really ridiculous joke in hushed whispers and it’s kind of cold where Sirius is touching him, but very warm too.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I tried to fix the ages in this fic! Apparently I calculated Sirius's age starting off with him being 1 when he was born :/ this is my life.


	2. Pup-appeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So mister moon stroll man on a scale from one to ten how much pup-appeal were you jazzing with last night?” Sirius breaks off the head of the next frog with a bit of an eyebrow wriggle thrown in Remus’s general direction – he’s still staring at the ceiling but he just feels the insufferableness of his friend’s grin all the way over from the bed.
> 
> “Pup-appeal?” he groans – like yesterday wasn’t so unbearable after all, and he’d much rather go back to before Sirius was here than have to deal with all this ridiculousness, which is only like one part truth and six parts lie.
> 
> “Ever since you said it happened when you were five I couldn’t get this image out of my head,” Sirius says very solemnly – then, he makes exasperated hand-movements that Remus follows from the corner of his eye, “Baby moon stroll man turns into an over-excited puppy but there’s no fur, just a lot more of your auburn fluff hair. I had a dream, it was awesome.”

# Pup-appeal

It’s a couple of weeks later and madam Pomfrey is helping him to the infirmary when she stops still in her tracks. Remus is leaning into her heavily as his own legs can barely carry him and he’s nodding off into unconsciousness because consciousness _hurts_.

“Mister Black?”

There is a figure slumped against the closed infirmary doors, and madam Pomfrey lightly bumps it with her feet for lack of any hands free – Remus should probably care, but he doesn’t really.

The figure jumps to its feet as if it’s not ungodly early and it’s Sirius Black – he’s in his pyjamas, reindeer-patterned trousers and a particularly ugly yellow jumper. He’s whipping at his hair because it’s all messed up and in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I know you usually don’t—“ Madam Pomfrey just kind of waves her hand at him and she lets him pull open the heavy set mahogany doors.

Remus is kind of nodding off all through her fussing and she puts murtlap juice on his wounds but his whole body just kind of _aches_ and he wants to _sleep_. He is vaguely aware of Sirius pushing up a chair next to the bed but to be honest there’s these bright little lights playing behind his eyelids and you would think that’s fun but it feels like he’s burning from the inside out.

Pomfrey makes him sit up to drink a sleeping potion and he grimaces as his body is forced to move – it’s kind of weird because it appears that Sirius is tucked up in a chair next to his bed and is kind of awkwardly trying to reach over to take Remus’s hand. Remus is really not feeling this whole idea of moving his arm but Sirius looks kind of confused with a little frown on his face so Remus gives in and allows the other boy to squeeze his hand as he swallows the potion.

“You’re really gonna have to explain moon charts to me,” Sirius says, and then kind of tips his head against the back of his chair, “thought it wasn’t until next week.”

It’s really kind of unfair because less than ten seconds later Sirius is already dozing off. He’s kind of snoring too.

Remus knows he should probably be annoyed, but Sirius’ hand is actually really comfortable in his own and the sleeping potion is super effective and that’s that.

 

***

 

When he wakes up his body is not burning anymore, but he still feels pretty damn awful. He blinks a couple of times just to make sure he’s not hallucinating because Sirius is still in the same chair besides his bed, long legs slung over the side of it and reading a magazine – or pretending to read a magazine, because Remus can see him staring over the brim of it.

From the looks of it, it’s already noon, yet Sirius appears not to have moved – he’s still wearing that hideous yellow sweater.

There’s a lot of _emotion_ , stuck in Remus’ throat, and he tries not to think about it too much but he can’t help it because _this is just a very nice thing to do for someone_ , he thinks, and it thumps in his head and in his heart, too. He swallows this _thing_ away but then he’s pretty sure his spine is being stabbed in multiple places at once as he tries to turn on his side to properly face Sirius – so he’s really grateful and everything, but his friend is just going to have to bear with him as he professes his thanks to the ceiling.

He opens his mouth but Sirius beats him to it, grinning: “let us not go on a tirade of how uncharacteristically friendly this is and how nice this makes me because there’s no way in fuck that I’m going to skip hand in hand with Snivellus any time soon and I’m pretty sure I’m still 99 percent a total a-hole.”

Now that isn’t really fair, Remus thinks, because sure, Sirius is a total tosser to most people and he’s a total twat to all Slytherins but he’s not _really_ an a-hole because sometimes he makes Remus toast with that marmalade he really likes and when Remus’s hair is not being atrocious Sirius tells him and sometimes in summer Sirius brings him lemonade while he’s studying outside and when Remus falls asleep during one of Binn’s classes Sirius takes notes for him – horrible almost illegible notes, but _notes_. And all of these things are _not_ things a-holes do, but then again the idea of Sirius and Severus holding hands _and skipping_ is a little disturbing so there’s no real coherent thought for Remus to voice.

“Yes well,” Remus eventually concedes – there is a pattern in the wood of the ceiling that he’s never noticed before, kind of round like cookies, “Peter would’ve probably forgotten altogether.”

“And he wouldn’t have got you this,” the raven lowers his magazine to reveal a pile of chocolate frogs which he’d been hiding in his lap – some of them have Christmas wrappers oddly similar to the reindeers on Sirius’ pyjama pants, “though _technically_ he did as they’re from his secret stash,” Sirius makes sure to accentuate the “secret” with air quotes, both hands up in the air.

There’s a thank you stuck this time, he’s sure that of all the emotions in his throat _gratitude_ is the one he wants to voice towards Sirius – because _chocolate_. But then he has those eyes on him, no moonlit seas this time but a cloudy sky and he knows better.

“That’s a horrible sweater,” he says instead, and lets Sirius break off a leg quite savagely and then feed it to his mouth so he himself has to do minimum effort.

“Is that so?” Sirius’ lips are chapped and they go up in a smirk as he watches Remus drool, sloppily trying to devour the chocolate _faster_ so he can get _more_ , “You should know, it’s yours.”

For a moment Remus believes him, too, but then he remembers he hasn’t owned anything the colour of mustard since too much of the good stuff had gotten him stuck on the toilet for two days when he was nine, and just like that they’re both grinning.

“So mister moon stroll man on a scale from one to ten how much pup-appeal were you jazzing with last night?” Sirius breaks off the head of the next frog with a bit of an eyebrow wriggle thrown in Remus’s general direction – he’s still staring at the ceiling but he just _feels_ the insufferableness of his friend’s grin all the way over from the bed.

“ _Pup_ -appeal?” he groans – like yesterday wasn’t so unbearable after all, and he’d much rather go back to before Sirius was here than have to deal with all this ridiculousness, which is only like one part truth and six parts lie.

“Ever since you said it happened when you were five I couldn’t get this image out of my head,” Sirius says very solemnly – then, he makes exasperated hand-movements that Remus follows from the corner of his eye, “Baby moon stroll man turns into an over-excited puppy but there’s no fur, _just a lot more of your auburn fluff hair_. I had a dream, it was awesome.”

Remus wants to die of mortification; Sirius was having dreams of him as a _puppy_ and that was so far from the truth it wasn’t even funny – or at least, only _a little_ funny.

“ _Sirius_ ,” he whines – because he’s _in pain_ and Sirius is kind of insufferable, “I turn into a deadly mauling monster!”

“When you were _five_?” Sirius raises both eyebrows sceptically, and then breaks another frog in pieces, this time eating half of it himself.

Remus glares at the ceiling. He wants to huff and fold his arms in front of his chest but he’s _aching_ so he just settles for staring witheringly at the cookie-shaped pattern and hopes Sirius feels his seriousness.

“My father could tell you stories,” he says in a tone that he hopes sounds a little threatening.

Sirius though, gives him an entirely unimpressed look and stuffs some chocolate in the brunette’s mouth as he retaliates, “you don’t scare me moon-man.”

In all seriousness Remus wants to _not_ find this funny because this is his _life_ they’re talking about but then again, it really is very funny so he just continues to almost choke on the chocolate as he bursts out laughing.

Sirius, in turn, gives him more chocolate and sits with him for the rest of the day – by the time Remus is feeling good enough to feed himself chocolate they’ve already eaten through half the stash, and his stomach is bloated and his whole mouth _feels_ like chocolate but when Sirius smiles at him his teeth are brown and he thinks _maybe this is what happiness is_.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love love love love love these two together and I've never written them like this actually, are you guys enjoying??


	3. Green Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a stumble in the bathroom and then, “you’re back early. Take off your clothes,” which are words he never imagined he’d ever hear because he’s not that handsome really and who would ever want to see him naked?
> 
> Sirius, apparently.
> 
> It's not what you think, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to update so here's a short update because I could!

# Green Water

He’s twelve and it’s been months of Sirius keeping him company every full moon when he wakes up in the infirmary one morning and there’s no one – the chair Sirius would usually use is pushed up next to the bed and there’s some chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties and a note. Remus is _tired_ and his skin is crawling, but he’s been much worse, so he grits his teeth and reaches over to take the note.

 _Potions! Will take notes if you eat ALL the chocolate!_ It says in Sirius’s unruly scrawl – it’s signed with a little star, too, and Remus thinks it’s beyond adorable but then squashes the thought. There is _nothing_ about Sirius Orion Black that should be qualified as _adorable_.

Madam Pomfrey checks up on him and he’s feeling kind of okay – stuffed with chocolate and he’s pretty sure he’ll never get over the feeling of his _spine expanding grossly_ but he’s been much worse – and he convinces her to let him go after she’s double-checked his injuries. All that’s left is a really deep-set _tenseness_ in his whole body and a tremendous headache.

It’s already past noon now, as he makes his way to the tower – he tries not to make eye-contact with anyone or look generally too out of it as to not raise suspicion and he wants to thank any muggle gods up there when he reaches the dorm without too much of a fuss.

He falls face-first into his bed and just kind of lies there for a moment, and he hopes that if he just lies there long enough he will sink down into the mattress and it will encase him and heal him and… maybe he’s had too much chocolate.

There’s a stumble in the bathroom and then, “you’re back early. Take off your clothes,” which are words he _never_ imagined he’d _ever_ hear because he’s not that handsome really and who would ever want to see him naked?

Sirius, apparently.

He can just muster up the strength to turn his head to face Sirius and then glare in what he hopes is the most withering glare he has ever glared. Sirius seems unimpressed – his hair is nicely combed for once, and he’s already taken off his Gryffindor tie, his white shirt lose and sleeves pushed up over his tan elbows. He’s rolling his eyes, hands set on his hips, and Remus thinks of how it’s not fair at all, how composed Sirius can be, when he himself is falling apart at the seams.

“Not like that,” Sirius reprimands, “I told Slughorn I took a bludger to the side and my whole body was hurtin’,” Sirius manhandles Remus into a sitting position and Remus feels like a sack of potatoes and refuses co-operation – Sirius is grunting and pulling at him and eventually gets him standing. Their eyes meet, and Sirius says very solemnly, “he made me stay after class and made me brew this _all on my own_ so the least you could do is try it you big baby moon man.”

Remus wants to throw a tantrum – he has just had a horrible night and if Sirius could just respect that and _not_ roughhouse him, that would be great.

Except Sirius does not appear to be in a very compassionate mood, as he instead forcibly moves Remus to the bathroom.

The water is neon green.

Remus says so.

“Why is the water green?” he says pointedly.

Sirius shrugs, helping Remus sit down on the toilet-seat so that he can feel the temperature of the water. He doesn’t answer, which isn’t very comforting, and then thinking about how unfocused Sirius usually is while brewing potions isn’t helping much either and he really wants to _not_ take a bath in this mysterious green concoction but Sirius is looking at him with this very unreadable look and sighs very deeply as if he’s been dealing with nothing but idiots his whole life but he’s finally met the one, the only, ultimate idiot. From the way he’s looking at him, it’s Remus.

“I willingly _spent two extra hours in potions_ and you’re bitching about _the colour_?” Sirius says this very stingily and his hands are on his hips again – kind of like an exasperated mother, though Remus figures it best not to point this out.

Sirius helps him take off his shirt and it’s all remarkably gentle, the way Sirius tries not to strain him. He leaves him alone after that and Remus undresses himself very slowly – it’s not that he’s hurting so much as that he’s just never enjoyed seeing his own naked skin.

As a child his family didn’t have enough money to afford extensive medical care and expensive potions and monthly healers tending for him, so a lot of the damage he did to his own skin had left ample scarring from wounds that had not properly healed. It is hideous to look at and a constant reminder of what he was and why he would never be normal.

He tries to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach instead of lingering upon it.

To his surprise the water feels _like magic_ and as he soaks his body it’s like his whole entire _life_ is mellowing out, softening around the edges and not so fragile as they once were – and every stroke against his own skin feels like redemption as the tension drains from him.

He’s not sure how long he stays there in the tub but he feels pretty boneless by the end of it and that feels infinitely better than having all the bones _torturing_ him.

Sirius pops his head around the door when he hears Remus bustling about, theatrically shunning his eyes with one hand as he gives Remus a set of clean pyjamas. Upon unfolding them Remus notices immediately that these are not his own – they are in a beautifully red colour and incredibly soft to the touch, smooth like silk.

“Sirius…” he starts, a little breathless because his fingertips are aching to feel the fabric again, _it’s better than petting kittens._

“I’m a spoiled rich kid with a too big allowance. Besides, Cissy said they’re the best and apparently there’s Phoenix feather in there somewhere. So let’s see this as an early birthday present and never talk about it again,” he waves his free hand in front of his face as if merely whisking the matter away like that – it’s stupid, Remus is sure, because not only has the raven gone to the trouble of buying him pyjamas, he’s _also_ asked his cousin for her opinion upon the matter which is just _odd_.

“It was my birthday two months ago,” Remus says – because he doesn’t have anything else to say, and he really wants to resist but then he’s already sliding his arm into the sleeve.

“So I’m _real early_ for next year,” Sirius does the hand thing again and Remus would be annoyed except that his whole body feels like it’s encased in warm fluff, “Cissy says the fabric is great for sensitive skins.”

And it is, Remus thinks, because there’s welts on his back that have healed really nastily which makes the skin there really sensitive to the touch but this pyjama is cool like water and not prickly or annoying but soothing and warm at the same time.

“So,” Sirius peeks through his fingers carefully, just as Remus finishes pulling up his pants, “are you ready to tell me a horror story?”

They move back into the dorm, where Remus thankfully flops down onto his bed – crawling under his blankets and having a good mind of never coming out again. He hides his head under a pillow and feels the bed dip where Sirius is getting comfy by his feet – it’s noon but it feels like they’re getting ready for bed.

“Where are James and Pete?” Remus murmurs into his pillow – Sirius answers by flinging himself rather ungracefully down next to the brunette.

He tugs at the pillow Remus is hiding in, smirking broad and proud.

“I told them Evans and McKinnon are having a fight in the courtyard,” his canines glitter, “you know how they get.”

Remus doesn’t want to giggle but he does anyway, and Sirius is grinning at him so he just kind of gives into the feeling, “I was catching fireflies,” is what he says.

“Fireflies huh?” is all Sirius answers.

“I used to really like them too, you know. And it had been a real sunny day, warm and humid and those are the best nights for hunting fireflies, aren’t they?” Remus thinks maybe Sirius’s eyes have fireflies in them, too, “And it’s kind of ironic because my mom called me back into the house five minutes earlier but I just wanted to spend some more time with them, and when I think about it now, it’s so silly, if only I’d listened…”

Sirius is listening to his story with wide eyes, his legs up in the air swinging like the seven-year-old he still is – he’s curling his hair in his fingers and as Remus pauses he pouts slightly.

“I’m sorry you will forever link this small action of rebellion to such traumatic events,” he says very solemnly, making Remus grin.

“I’m more sorry about the fireflies,” Remus answers dryly, and then they’re both smiling so broad their cheeks hurt.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still and will probably always be my fav pairiiiiing. Marauders era ftw! Leave a review!


	4. Life is a tragedy, Let me tell you a story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think you know all about love?” Sirius’s voice is remarkably brisk in the silence afterwards, “because you’re only thirteen, and werewolves mate for life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuuuup here we gooooo
> 
> EDIT: this part takes place aprox. 1 year after the last one! So this is at the end of 2nd year, Remus turned 13 recently and Sirius turned 13 at the beginning of the year. Just to make everything clear and stuff!

# Life is a tragedy, Let me tell you a story

He is in the library with Peter, as the boy does his homework he reads a play, a tragedy, because his life itself is rather very much like a tragedy.

Peter is not paying any attention at all, instead pretending to focus on his textbook – his face is scrunched up in confusion though, which betrays his true conflict. Remus has finished writing his own essay already, but Peter is still ten centimetres short of his own being completed.

There’s a commotion by the entrance and not five seconds later they are joined by James and Sirius who are giggling about something mysterious now – they get an angry glare from the librarian and James sinks down next to Peter, pressing his hand to his mouth to try and shush himself.

They continue sniggering and snorting quite ungracefully for the next minute, after which James takes out his own essay upon receiving a second withering look from the librarian.

Sirius settles in next to Remus, but he doesn’t bother opening his book bag. He sits in silence for a mere second, then peers over Remus’ shoulder so he can see what the younger boy is reading. He huffs, annoyed.

“You know Romeo and Juliet is just about a bunch of suicidal kids, right?” Sirius’s whisper is barely that, but Remus lets it slide on account of him not giving a fuck.

“This is King Lear,” Remus murmurs, turning a page.

“She was not yet fourteen of age,” Sirius continues heatedly – Remus knows how he feels about Shakespeare, his father having taken him to watch the plays so many times he could recount them by heart, “how would she know love?”

“Neither am I,” Remus closes the book resolutely when he realizes he won’t get any reading done anyway, “do I not know love?”

Sirius is quiet for a moment. His hair is pushed back behind his ears, and his eyes are shining, very bright in the darkness of his face. He stays, unblinking for a moment. Remus notes he is missing his tie.

Suddenly, Sirius takes him by the wrist, pulling him from his chair.

“Come with me,” is all he says as he leads Remus away from the study area – when Remus looks back at their table to wordlessly ask James for an explanation, the bespectacled youth merely shrugs his shoulders.

He’s not scared, really, because they’re in the library and there’s not really anything Sirius can do to him to physically hurt him – but then again there’s many things that boy could say to him in the span of two minutes that could possibly scar him for life.

Instead he just guides Remus between rows and rows of books – and it’s like it’s an infinite way, an inexplicable labyrinth, all the way down the back of the library, and Sirius knows it by heart. He pulls a book from the racks seemingly at random, except when Remus takes a closer look it’s a book on werewolves and he thinks maybe it’s not so random – definitely when he finds a specific page and then thrusts the book in Remus’s arm, making him drop King Lear to the floor with a noise that reverberates in Remus’s eardrums.

“You think you know all about love?” Sirius’s voice is remarkably brisk in the silence afterwards, “because you’re only thirteen, and werewolves mate for life.”

He’s very short about all of it, and then he walks away all rigid shoulders and hasty steps. Remus looks down at the book where there’s a picture of two adults and then they are kissing and the woman turns into a wolf and jumps at the man, all teeth and claws and a lot of red ink, and there’s a lot of text and he stares at it for the longest time as if staring hard will make him understand.

Except not understanding Sirius Orion Black is a fate suffered by most.

He doesn’t want this to be the kind of thing that consumes him, because he thinks about a lot of things and he thinks about them too deeply, most of the time. He’s too sensitive, his mother says, and he thinks too much about things that don’t need any thinking – but she’s wrong, Remus knows, because there’s some things that need a lot of thought.

And Remus is not a romantic, not really, because he knows that he has about zero chance of finding someone who will meet him and know him and _see him_ and love him – so that’s that, he’s always thought. So he reads books and poems and plays and imagines that maybe in some other life where he’s not all sullied and scarred he might have been loved by someone.

But to somehow imply that simply because he will never be loved _back_ he doesn’t know _how_ to love is quite ridiculous in itself. Because Remus loves his mother and his father very deeply, and he loves James and Peter, and even Sirius who is so annoying all the time. Romantic love is not all there is in life – some love is just different, but that doesn’t mean it’s not love.

All in all he is kind of angry that Sirius just thinks he can be so _mean_ about things he knows nothing of, because in all honesty, if there’s one second-year that is a total menace and has not a drop of love in the whole heart of him, it’s probably Sirius.

That boy is just rotten, Remus thinks, and all those charades and how he smiles at girls, that’s kind of rotten too. But he’s funny though, most of the times, and loyal, Remus supposes.

There’s anger in his stomach, bubbling there. But isn’t love supposed to be true, he thinks, and then he realizes that he has not been true with James and Peter and that perhaps his love for them is always falling short because he makes it so – this thing that is fundamentally part of him, he is keeping it from them, and it clouds his vision.

He picks up King Lear and stares at it for a moment. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into Sirius, because that boy is always at least two thirds crazy – however, it does make him feel a little bolder, a little reckless.

When he arrives back at the study area, James and Peter are both still slaving over their essays, James’s wand stuck behind his ear. Sirius is nowhere to be seen, but then Remus is also not his babysitter and he doesn’t really care, not with a sort of _upset_ -ness still clear in his mind.

He flops down across from Peter with a feigned nonchalance that feels _almost_ real. Perhaps he should forsake wizard school and pursue an acting career.

“Hey guys,” he says lowly as to not disturb the other students – James looks up through his glasses, curiosity clear in his eyes, and Peter blinks sluggishly from where he has his chin perched on his elbow, “you wanna hear a horror story?”

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My OTP being bitchy as fuck because that's how I write them and that's how they roll -insert peace emoticon-


	5. Animagus Animations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes scan the page, and when they meet an animation he stills – he remembers his vivid dreams from before, animation turned man, turned him, turned wolf and then blood – and then he remembers how to breathe and exhales loudly. This, draws Sirius’s attention.
> 
> “We aren’t learning about animagi until next semester,” he finds his voice and refuses to meet Sirius’ eyes – he is sure they will be stormy, and he has no need for storms in his life right now.

# Animagus Animations

 

He is thirteen and he hasn’t been alone with Sirius since forever – not like _before_ where Sirius would bring him chocolate or even _before before_ where they would run off together and cry at the moon and stars and generally act like two complete and utter fools. Remus doesn’t know why exactly – there’s no reason, really, he’s sure, it’s just that now every infirmary visit he has James and Peter there too and there is no need for Sirius to take up this hard task all by himself – there’s less chocolate, but Remus pretends that’s all he misses.

He’s taking new courses in third year that neither James nor Sirius take and he ends up with ancient runes spent next to Peter who is always copying his notes and Care of magical creatures with James and Sirius goofing around and Divination with all four of them dozing off and it’s nice and normal – _life_.

None the less, he can’t help but realise as Sirius flops down in the seat next to him – how long it has been since they have talked, just the two of them, and he still remembers what they discussed when they had spoken last but he does no longer feel the anger – sometimes he dreams of the pictures though, moving in front of his eyes, except that he’s the figure that turns wolf and goes berserk.

He is cuddled up in his chair and almost dozing off, as it is late and he spent too long staring at his ancient runes chart – Sirius is all vibrant energy and pitch black hair falling in his tan face, fingers stained with ink as he unrolls his scroll on the low table before them.

He sets a heavy library book down next – agile fingers open it up to the desired pages and then Sirius is taking notes, looking to all the world immersed in his own thoughts.

It annoys Remus a little – because Sirius is never so focused on anything that he cannot even spare his good friend a look.

He doesn’t mean to – because he is quite sure that Sirius is only faking seriousness to get a rise out of him – but he finds himself murmuring, “I thought you’d all finished your assignments for the weekend.”

It had probably been a lie, too, because James had wanted to spend the evening on the pitch and Peter had wanted to watch, and they knew Remus had wanted to finish his homework instead. However, Sirius, to his surprise, nods in confirmation. He doesn’t take his dark eyes off the book.

Remus is two parts annoyed and two parts curious. He pushes his hair from his face and tries to snuggle back into the sofa – he had been close to dozing off before Sirius had come along – but it is to no avail. The scratching of the quill against the parchment is boring into his head like a drill and it is driving him insane.

He gives up on the pretences of sleep and instead finds himself leaning over closer to where Sirius is sitting – he is so bent over the parchment their heads almost bump as Remus moves forward to read the lines of the book upside-down.

It’s not one of their required readings, Remus can tell immediately – the book is too old and worn and thick, and his only class requiring such thick textbooks is ancient runes, which Sirius isn’t taking – and the first lines he reads all seem to be in Latin, which he doesn’t understand.

His eyes scan the page, and when they meet an animation he stills – he remembers his vivid dreams from before, animation turned man, turned him, turned wolf and then blood – and then he remembers how to breathe and exhales loudly. This, draws Sirius’s attention.

“We aren’t learning about animagi until next semester,” he finds his voice and refuses to meet Sirius’ eyes – he is sure they will be stormy, and he has no need for storms in his life right now.

“Yes,” Sirius admits this willingly and without any fight.

This only confuses Remus further. He tries to read more, and realises the Latin had been part of an incantation and its meaning, as it is later explained in English. When his look flits over to Sirius’s busy hands he notices the boy has dotted down the incantation dutifully. He has also written “daily” in big letter and has underlined it four times.

On the yellowish pages, the witch continues to morph into a big eagle and fly off the margins only to morph back in its original spot seconds later.

“You gonna turn into an eagle too?” Remus tries to make it sound casual because he is suddenly painfully aware of the fact that this is in fact, very awkward, and if James had been here instead of him they would have been chattering off merrily – except that he’s not James, he’s _himself_ , and it’s kind of like he has lost his footing, _don’t I know Sirius Black anymore?_

“I’m not really into the whole flying thing, they got brooms for that,” Sirius shrugs his shoulders – it looks as if he isn’t planning on facing Remus directly any time soon and for a moment the brunette wonders if he should perhaps just give up and go up to the dorms instead.

Except part of him is also excited – after all Sirius means a lot to him, the first to know his secret and never any judgement passed from him. He is also impossibly funny and to be honest Remus has kind of missed how Sirius used to sometimes make him toast and he’s not sure really why he has fallen from grace, because they had no real fight and there were no shared harsh words, but something had cracked and here Remus could fix it, away from prying eyes.

He is about to say something, but then Sirius is putting down his quill and as he pulls away from the table to lean back into his comfortable chair their heads almost bump. Remus laughs but Sirius doesn’t and it’s weird – his long black hair is falling into his face and his eyes are impossibly dark.

“You’ve never told me what it feels like, becoming someone else,” Sirius says it casually, as if he’s talking about the pumpkin pasties they had at Halloween, and Remus had imagined him to say many a plenty things but not that so he just kind of looks at the older boy oddly.

When he realises what Sirius is talking about he feels annoyed – it’s irrational, he thinks, but then so is Sirius.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” he suddenly sounds angry, his voice a mere hiss – his eyes flicker around the room uncertainly but when he is reassured they are alone in the common room he focuses his stare on his friend again, this time more impatient than anything else, “Even James and Peter had the audacity to be shocked, frightened even, just a little! You never even seemed surprised.”

It’s stupid because he’s too easily riled up – then again, there is a full moon next week and he feels it, not in his bones but in his heart. He had hissed at misses Norris yesterday, almost like a cat would, and then growled, and though his friends had laughed amusedly he could tell James and Peter had been frightened – he could smell it as clear as the smell of dew on early-morning grass, and he had felt it too. This was exactly like that – it was his heart, _his own_ , but for some reason it was not quite the same and he was provoked when prodded, much more easily than he imagined his five-year-old self would have been.

Sirius is looking at him thoughtfully, as if somehow he can tell – which is silly, because James and Peter had relaxed as soon as Remus had laughed, _act like nothing’s wrong_ and he had become good at acting, he knows it. Yet in the light of the flickering candles there was a glow on Sirius’s dark face and for some reason he knows Sirius is not as easily tricked.

“When I first met you, even that very first time on the train,” Sirius’s face is wide open in wonder – as if remembering it now, how they had shook hands and then continued to quarrel all through their first train ride together, “I was under the impression that I _knew_ you,” he pauses and Remus can tell there’s hesitation but he goes on anyway, “ _all_ of you,” he seems to measure up the younger boy in front of him and then smiles, almost _kindly_ , “you are my friend, Remus, there is nothing about you that scares me.”

Remus is relatively sure that if he was anyone else – the second-year Huffelpuff Sirius had smiled at this morning or even the fifth-year Ravenclaw that he had winked at – he would now continue to swoon and smile and everything would be well.

But he _isn’t_ a second-year Huffelpuff and Sirius has never winked at him quite the way he did at fifth-year Ravenclaws and to be honest he is just not impressed.

Because Remus has been living with this for almost a decade now and he has found out the hard way that there is no one who stays unaffected for long – he lost his childhood friends after full moon induced hormonal outbursts and his mother has not looked at him the same way since he broke all the mirrors in the house when he was nine. Sirius is fantasizing of things that are _not_ real – and he knows, that for all the love he holds for the other boy, the monster inside him just _doesn’t_ care.

What he actually says is more along the lines of, “that is the _stupidest_ thing I have _ever_ heard!” and the dams kind of break, just like that, and Sirius’s face turns from kind to _murder_ , in a second, “do you think this _thing_ inside me cares that we are _friends?_ ” he laughs harshly, shrilly, like he has seen Bellatrix do, and he sees the effect it has on Sirius and it makes him feel _strong_ , “you think we can take our strolls in the full moon together? Because it will _maul you_ , no matter how good friends we are!”

Sirius is quiet for the longest of moments – so long even, that Remus can feel the anger he had felt, hot like fire in his belly, almost completely fade out, leaving nothing but an empty stomach instead.

He thinks maybe he should take Sirius’s hand or maybe he should say something else, _anything else_ , like _I’m sorry but you don’t understand_ , except that then Sirius is collecting his things and he doesn’t look up as he says, voice stern, “this _thing_ is as much part of you as everything else,” and with a shake of his head, “even the most loyal dog can turn out to bite you Remus, and in case you haven’t noticed, human beings are not exactly the gentlest of creatures,” the way he says it should be mocking, Remus thinks, because he is probably talking about him and his lack of tact, “I fear you as much as I fear James and Peter, not less, not more,” he takes his books in his arms with a brief look at Remus’s face and then he’s turning around, walking towards the staircase – he stops, turns, grins and says, “if that makes me the stupid one, so be it.”

Remus doesn’t know what to say to that, and then when he thinks maybe he does know, Sirius is already long-gone.

 

***


	6. The Monster Doesn't Live Under the Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not sure if he’s fallen asleep or fainted, but he knows he closes his eyes and thinks fuck self-inflicted werewolf wounds and the difficulties of healing them and then the next moment the air is much warmer and his body is less tense and when he opens his eyes he sees little dragons prancing in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a longer chapter and I actually really like this one if I do say so myself! Little prancing Dragons ftw!

# The Monster Doesn't Live Under the Bed

He is sweating profusely – and not the attractive kind of sweating either, where your cheeks turn slightly pink and you’re spreading just that little extra bit of pheromone to woo possible suitors – _no_. He is all crimson cheeks and crimson nose and rivulets of sweat down his temple and tipping off his nose and his curls are sticking to his skin and all matted and he’s breathing heavily, _too hard_ , so that anyone walking by would immediately think they’ve found a wounded animal, his breath is _that loud_ and he’s doubled over with his hands on his knees like an old man. It is horrible.

He had been on patrol with James when misses Norris had showed up at the end of the hallway and they had been running ever since. Luckily, they had easily located a hidden alcove behind a tapestry of Morgana the witch, but they had run up flights of stairs and the full moon had only been last week – so when Remus begrudgingly compares himself to an old man the sadness of the story is that it’s actually a remarkably accurate description because all his muscles are burning from the exertion so close after the full moon and there is a deep cut on his left hand that madam Pomfrey had been unable to heal and had instead wrapped up in light bandages and he was pretty sure he was bleeding through them now – _damnit_ , the wound had looked like it was healing that same morning.

He hears the tell-tale sign of almost no-noise as James sneaks back into their hiding spot. His cheeks are pink, and he smells really good, because he is James Potter and physical exertion will only ever make him the poster-boy for handsome, all attractive pheromones and everything. Remus isn’t sure whether to be annoyed or impressed.

As it is he’s neither, because James is giving him a small pat on his back and then slides down the wall onto his ass in a very undignified manner – perhaps James Potter too, gets affected by physical exertion.

“Wha’d ya think?” he manages to huff out in what he hopes is an understandable manner – James is looking at him through his thick glasses with something akin to pity, so he reaches out to swat at his friend’s unruly head and then pants some more.

“I think we shouldn’t ‘ve given the cloak to Sirius and Peter,” James groans, part hurt at being attacked by his comrade, part hurt at being responsible for their cloak-less evening.

To be honest, it had made sense for all of them earlier that evening, because Peter was the slowest runner of all of them and Sirius was _really_ bad at keeping his voice down when Remus was not there to reprimand him. It was far more likely for the two of them to get caught then James and Remus, so the raven had given up the use of his invisibility cloak for this one night.

It had been an executive decision he sorely regretted now.

Remus wants to whine because he is sweaty as fuck and James is apparently really damn thick and he’s holding parchment in one sweaty clenched fist and he had been so diligent in drawing walls tonight and the idea that the barely-dried ink is blotting with his own stinky sweat right now is kind of disgusting and also just very disheartening.

He can’t even muster a scowl.

“I meant about Filch,” he doesn’t add _you moron_ because James is much quicker than him and although the boy doesn’t have any malice towards him, it wouldn’t be beyond him to learn him a little lesson in insolence and how friends should not be insulting towards one another in key moments of highly dangerous operations.

“Oh,” James seems to think _I am a moron_ all by himself and that’s all Remus wanted anyway, “I think the coast’s clear. Hey Remus are you bleeding?”

He wants to scowl for real this time.

When he lifts his hand off his knee he sees that his blood has soaked through two layers of bandages and has left a stain on his jeans. He has seen more blood than this, but he really liked those jeans and blood is _very_ hard to wash out so he kind of whimpers and then he realises his hand is actually really _hurting_ and he whimpers some more.

James proves that he is not that much of a moron by hastily summoning more bandages and pushing them towards Remus. They are still in a very precarious position with no certain way to get out of it and it’s a very inconvenient time to start bleeding, Remus knows, because cats have a great sense of smell and now he really is kind of like a wounded animal and he fears that this will only make it so much easier for Filch to catch them.

“We’re too far from Gryffindor tower to make a run for it,” James concludes – they don’t usually _make a run for it_ , they usually sneak through hallways and just _don’t run into Filch_ , but as it is, _making a run for it_ sounds like their only option, having been caught and all, “Sirius and Peter were mapping the South corridor, so I’ll go get the cloak and bring it back here. You just wait,” he sounds very much like a captain on a sinking ship except Remus is pretty sure captains are the ones _not supposed_ to abandon ship. He still nods, because not having to run around looking for Sirius and Peter sounds like absolute _magic_ to his ears. James moves closer to the tapestry, and for a moment he’s just listening for sounds and looking for possible threats – before leaving though, he turns to Remus one more time, “oh and Remus,” he gives him a long look and the brunette just stares back – his blood is pooling in his bandaged palm now and the feeling is entirely uncomfortable, “don’t breathe so loud man, I could hear you from around the corner.”

With those words of wisdom he flits out behind the tapestry and Remus is left alone. He leans back and overdoes it, bumps into the wall of the narrow space and then unceremoniously gives up and flops down to the stone floor. It’s a hot night and the tiles are quite comfortable against his burning skin, cool where they are touching his neck.

Before focusing on his hand he tries to get his breathing down – he used to run track and he knows how to do it, just breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth and before he knows it the air doesn’t _sting_ his lungs anymore and instead feels refreshing and he is grateful.

He is also very grateful that he had dressed properly before going out marauding tonight – the privilege of the cloak meant that Sirius and Peter had gone out in their pyjamas _because they could_ , the sods – because his sweater feels nice and comfortable and much more adept at handling sweat than his pyjamas would be.

Then he notices his hand is staining the stone floor where he had dropped it besides his body and he feels kind of repulsed. He listlessly moves the parchment in his free hand to his lap and takes the bandages James had offered him – he stares at them for a long moment and then looks back at the bandages already around his hand. He remembers exactly where the deep cut had been, through his palm and over his wrist, and he’s pretty sure he should _care_ because Pomfrey had warned him that despite missing his major arteries the cut was still severe and the fact that she could not heal it with magic only made it that much more dangerous.

Despite all that, he really can’t muster up the _care_ , because his whole body feels heavy and weak and he is pretty sure there is blood running down his wrist now too. The joys of being a werewolf.

He’s not sure if he’s fallen asleep or fainted, but he knows he closes his eyes and thinks _fuck self-inflicted werewolf wounds and the difficulties of healing them_ and then the next moment the air is much warmer and his body is less tense and when he opens his eyes he sees little dragons prancing in front of him.

 _What_?

After a moment he realises someone is sitting with him in the cramped space, and when he opens his eyes again his palm is being cradled in Sirius’s lap as the boy softly sings, which is just silly, _why does he even own dragon-pyjama trousers?_

Next, Sirius is undoing the wrapping at a dangerous speed, making sure not to brush any of the hurt skin but wasting no time whatsoever – Remus realises he must have been waiting for an hour, at least, and that his blood is caked down his arm now.

The both of them are quiet, and Remus closes his eyes again when he realises Sirius is still wearing the invisibility cloak around his shoulders, which is causing a rather weird view of all of Sirius minus parts of his upper arms and that and the thick smell of blood is kind of making Remus nauseous.

The soiled bandage drops to the floor with a sickly slick sound and then… Remus feels _warmth_ against his palm which shouldn’t actually be a thing.

He doesn’t really _want_ to look because he is tired and Sirius has been really cold towards him lately and he doesn’t want to admit that the way the raven is wiping at his arm with a cloth is rather soothing.

When he opens his eyes again he notices that Sirius’s tan face is pink at the cheeks, indicating he must have hurried. His eyes trail down to where the boy is looking, intently, at Remus’ palm, and there is a green goo, a little heavy, resting on his palm, which is soothing the burn. Where the cut runs into his wrist the skin is angry red, but due to the green goo Remus can no longer feel the pain – the bleeding has stopped, too.

Sirius is using a handkerchief, embroidered with _S. Black_ to dap at his soiled skin, cleaning him as best as he can.

The first time Remus tries to speak his tongue feels really thick and he just gets tied up, _so annoying when that happens_. Sirius appears not to have heard it, and instead continues to dap at the bloodstain impatiently. His own slender fingers are dirtied now, too, and it should be kind of sickening, but Remus has seen so much worse that it leaves him indifferent.

“You always carry murtlap juice around?” he had meant for it to sound cocky, but it just sounded rather pathetic instead – slurred and exhausted.

Sirius looks up only briefly, and from what Remus can see his eyes are raging. He thinks he prefers this, because although a bad swimmer, he himself has raged through plenty of storms.

“I had the cloak,” Sirius says simply, “James didn’t tell me you were hurt.”

He sounds aggravated, Remus thinks, but then dismisses it – because there are no two closer friends than Sirius and James, and in all the time he has known them he has never once heard them having words or a disagreement. They supported each other, unconditionally, even when Sirius fought with his Slytherin relatives and James pratted on about Lily and picked senseless fights with Snape.

There’s silence again, and Sirius sets to wrapping up Remus’s hand again, trapping the residue of the murtlap juice inside – it doesn’t hurt, but it’s disturbing how it’s not healing, either. Sirius seems to notice this too, and gives him an unreadable look – his handsome face is drawn up in what Remus guesses is confusion.

All he can do in return is shrug, “not every werewolf scratch is easy to heal.”

Sirius’s eyes turn into slits sceptically.

“You _are_ a werewolf,” he states annoyingly, as if Remus has possibly overlooked this fact for the past ten years.

“Doesn’t give me healing power,” Remus snaps, unintentionally – because this has been his reality for two thirds of his life and Sirius is only just learning.

But he is also learning in a very persistent and pesky way, Remus can’t help but think, and doesn’t understand the real dangers of his condition – perhaps this will show him, he thinks idly, and then feels guilty.

Sirius is trying.

When Sirius doesn’t say anything, Remus just feels more guilty.

Then, when Sirius does speak, Remus suddenly feels a lot less guilty because he says something really fucking stupid. He says, “if I were to lock myself in a room with nowhere to go I would probably bite and scratch at myself too,” in this very annoyingly know-it-all voice.

“Ha bloody ha,” Remus does sneer this time – he has tired bones but anger is cursing through his veins and he manages all the bite he musters, “what would you have me do then?”

When Sirius looks up his face is contorted in equal anger – almost blazing really, and his tan skin is turning darker at the cheeks to showcase his violent change in emotion. His grip is gentle still, as he wraps the bandage around the hurt wrist, but there’s something in the way that Sirius’ long locks are moving in the none-present wind that tells Remus he is upset enough to stir his own magic, despite the fact that he is not even holding his own wand.

“Run free,” Sirius challenges, his look unwavering.

The brunette laughs humourlessly at his friend’s face, long too, and hard, and then he just rolls his eyes and he tries to break away from him – but his hand is in Sirius’s lap and his eyes are trapped in the black of Sirius’ irises and it’s horrible and not so much at the same time.

“You don’t understand,” he just says, rubbing his free hand over his face tiredly.

“I know enough to understand that you could be scratching at critters instead,” Sirius retaliates briskly – his voice is louder than it should be, because Remus had not even risen his own, but as it is Sirius is perhaps speaking more passionately than Remus is.

Remus is just tired. And angry. But mostly tired.

“And risk hurting any students?” his laugh is hollow, and he wishes he could look away.

“There are more dangerous things in those woods than you Remus,” Sirius finishes wrapping his hand, finally, but then before Remus can safely bring it over to his own lap, _his side_ , the tan hands are encasing it, bringing it up to Sirius’s face and for a moment Remus is afraid he’s going to _hate this_ but then the raven is just pressing a very innocent kiss on top of the bandages, “you are hurting yourself because you are denying yourself,” is what he says, and then there’s a second kiss.

Remus sinks back against the wall, suddenly deflated. Sirius is not such a cruel being, really, he wants to believe it. But then he cannot deny that there is perhaps something hiding in those eyes – and it could very well be cruelty, or it could not be.

“It’s not me who wants to run free Sirius,” he shakes his head – is Sirius jealous of this monster inside of him? Perhaps the older boy envies him for the ability to let his monster out so easily and so consistently, “it’s this thing inside.”

When Sirius smiles it’s gentle. His lips are really pink.

“The same thing that makes you all angry and fired up before the full moon,” Sirius brings the injured hand back down, “the same thing that makes you growl at misses Norris. It’s you Remus. Just you.”

Then the boy stands abruptly. He takes the piece of parchment still resting in Remus’s lap, and holds up the invisibility cloak in invitation.

Remus figures that that’s that, so he gets to his feet, slightly sore and a little hurt in his pride, but then when Sirius pulls him in under the cloak and gives him this lopsided grin, he has to laugh along. Because Sirius is a moron, sometimes, but not as much as James, and he’s also very nice when he wants to be.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I invented faint-chants (I don't know if it's a thing in the HP universe) and also I might have cried a little writing this part and imagining Sirius knows faint-chants because he has to un-faint Regulus all the time D: also I am a little hangover while writing this so English, meh.
> 
> ANYWAY. I hope you guys enjoyed! Leave a kudos or a comment if you have some time!


	7. Wand Hair Bun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sirius—“ he starts because he doesn’t know how else to start.
> 
> He had been bleeding in a corridor and Sirius had saved him – there should be a card for that, Remus thinks, thanks for saving my bleeding ass from dying behind a tacky tapestry, he’s sure they would sell.

# Wand Hair Bun

 

He is sure they’ve had a fight – one hundred percent sure, really, because they’re not talking and it’s a Saturday which usually means they would be talking _a lot_. Instead they are all silent and gorging on their lunch as if starved, not meeting each other’s eyes. Remus looks at Peter, across from him and next to a silently fuming Sirius Black but is only met with equal confusion – next to him James is equally quiet, with a small snarl at his lips.

“You should get Pomfrey to check you,” Sirius says between bites of bacon, and for a moment he thinks he’s talking to James except than he realises.

Before he can answer, James is making a noise of contempt and then snapping, “he’s not a _toddler_ Sirius, you can’t tell him what to do!” and to be honest Remus is just even more confused now.

The sound of the cutlery being dropped harshly onto his plate seems to scream in Remus’ ears – then Sirius is standing rather abruptly, growling, “oh, excuse me, I’d forgotten you’d rather he bled out in a corridor,” and just like that he stomps off, waving his arms in exasperation as he goes.

Remus realises they had in fact been fighting about _him_.

It doesn’t make any more sense to him.

“I don’t get it,” he ponders aloud, “I wasn’t off _that bad_.”

To his surprise however, Peter and James exchange a mysterious and slightly pained look – Remus had not expected it to be a perfect day, but it surely is turning out to be much more of a surprise than he had anticipated.

“Actually, Remus,” James sounds a little haughty, his expression turned guilty, “Sirius told us he had to chant for ages to get you to wake up.”

Remus isn’t very sure what he’s supposed to say to that – except he realizes that Sirius, once again, went above and beyond, and this _after_ he had told himself their distance was good because Sirius no longer _needed_ to take care of him. What a joke.

He gets up almost as briskly as Sirius had and then just kind of makes his way back into the corridor, neglecting the rest of his lunch – he’s not sure where to go at first, but then he thinks that if Sirius is really having a fit at James he will probably go to the one place the bespectacled boy would _never_ set foot in on a Saturday.

It doesn’t take him very long to locate Sirius at the library – it’s almost completely deserted now, most students out to enjoy their free day. The Black boy is on a sofa facing the window, and he appears to be watching the lake – he’s using his wand to keep up his hair in a knot on top of his head and it’s kind of funny because there’s dark locks falling into his face and he doesn’t seem to care very much, poking at his knee through a hole in his jeans.

There’s a really heavy looking book in his lap and he’s sitting with both legs tucked up on the sofa – he’s not reading, just staring outside pensively. Remus imagines he is pondering the great food he is now missing out on because of his erratic behaviour.

Remus isn’t really sure how to approach him really so he just says, “so, apparently you could be a medi-wizard by now. Faint-chants?” and flops down unceremoniously across from the older Black son.

When the boy turns to look at him he doesn’t look impressed – his grey eyes are shining, and his tawny skin is almost glowing with how cocky he looks. Remus feels as if he might blush, for some mysterious reason.

“If you have the time to lecture me about my career options you can sure spare a moment to drag your butt to the infirmary, or must I make you?” is what Sirius says even though Remus only hears half of it because he’s busy staring at the way the black locks are framing his face perfectly, _how does it do that?_

“Sirius—“ he starts because he doesn’t know how _else_ to start.

He had been bleeding in a corridor and Sirius had saved him – there should be a card for that, Remus thinks, _thanks for saving my bleeding ass from dying behind a tacky tapestry_ , he’s sure they would sell.

“Don’t give me that look Remus,” he rolls his eyes – really really grey, too, like little stars – and Remus quite promptly wants to take the thick book from Sirius’s lap and brain himself with it, “we’ve been over this. I’m actually not a very nice guy.”

This made Remus want to rolls his eyes but he refrains.

“Yes well you keep saying that but then you do all these incredibly nice things which kind of makes me wonder you know, is he really _not_?” he says it very fast and all strung together and this time Sirius is the one staring, open-faced wonder, marvelling at the speed with which Remus had managed to speak.

There is nothing but silence that meets him in return though.

“So what?” he is starting to get a little aggravated with Sirius’s lack of wellwillingness, “James makes one mistake and falls from grace? If Filch had found us it would have been worse! What would you have done if you were him?”

Sirius looks at him for a moment – just very mundanely, too, nothing that special.

Then he says in this very tight voice, “first of all I would have him that you were bleeding behind a tapestry instead of leaving him guessing so that he has to run all the way there and then double back to the other side of the castle to steal from the potion’s teacher,” he takes a deep breath and Remus wants to interrupt but then Sirius is putting up his hand and going on, “second, I would have stayed awake to check on you before going off to dreamland myself like some little twat,” he makes a face here, and Remus finds it hard not to be amused despite the seriousness of what Sirius is saying, “and _last_ , when the person who I call my best friend points out that I have in fact been a little twat for leaving our friend bleeding behind a tapestry I would _apologise_ because that is just not a nice thing to do.”

His cheeks have gone slightly pink. Remus doesn’t know what to do. He wants to say he’s sorry but he can tell by the way he is being looked at it would not be tolerated. Sirius just rolls his eyes.

“You were _bleeding_ ,” he says exhasperated, “I’m pretty sure _you_ are not the one that needs to apologise.”

He gives Remus a look that speaks of so much disapproval Remus feels a little disheartened. It’s an easy thing for Sirius to say, always over-confident to the point of cocky, so certain of who he is as a person.

Suddenly he feels bitter, and not much else.

“You don’t understand,” he shakes his head, sighing deeply as he tucks up his legs on the couch next to his body, “you couldn’t possibly understand. Growing up, I had no friends, too afraid that they would somehow _find out_. Did I ever tell you? Why I’m like this?” he feels these little pinpricks of tears stinging at his eyes but he wills himself not to get emotional – this is all pure fact, there is no use crying about it, “my father angered a werewolf called Fenrir Greyback,” Remus bites at the name, as if the sound of it itself makes his blood boil and his bones crack, “which made him want to get even. I’m like this because of my father,” his fists fletch in his sides and he feels like maybe he’ll be sick, “and he can’t even look me in the eye,” he feels resentment towards his father, there’s no use hiding it, “my mother never smiles,” when Sirius tries to meet his gaze he refuses, and instead stares at his own knees. His jeans are worn out there, “and you think all of _this_ matters, all these little games you play, all these _egos_ , and for what? It’s all just shimmer,” he tears at some lint that’s sticking out from his jeans and kind of distracts himself with it while he talks, “it’s what’s _inside_ that really matters. And I _know_ what’s inside of me. I don’t need _anyone else_ to know.”

Sirius shifts, and it’s kind of like he wants to say something because he’s reaching out for him now, stretching out tan fingers and putting them on Remus’s worn out jeans and it’s silly but now that he’s talking he can’t just stop.

“I promised myself, if I was ever to meet someone who understood this part of me, who had seen me and not run, I would never let that go no matter what,” the lint lets go and so does he, kind of, sinking into himself, “because _every time_ I meet someone new all I can think is _will they know_? Can they tell? Will they find out? And, if they find out, _what will they say_? I don’t care how James treats me,” it feels rather shameful to admit it, too, but not so much that he can’t bring himself to say it, “all I care about is that he _knows_ and he hasn’t let go yet.”

Sirius’s hand kind of claws at his knee, and he’s tugging at the jeans to beckon him closer as if he’s about to say something very serious and secretive – there is no one else in the library, but Remus imagines that this is the exact sort of dramatic scenario that Sirius enjoys.

“James is by no means a bad man,” is what he says – in a way that betrays his ancient family line immediately, a sense of haughtiness in his voice that can not be faked, “but you should not forget who _he_ is on the inside, and you should not forget how _he_ was raised,” and he punctuates his words with his long finger poking into Remus’s knee and for a moment he has doubts because was there this big mysterious thing surrounding James that he has forgotten? “and where you were taught you were small he was taught he was almighty and you must _never_ let him take advantage of that knowledge,” Sirius shakes his head, his eyes closing momentarily before he meets Remus’s, “people like him… you give them a hand and they take the whole damn arm.”

Remus isn’t sure if Sirius is speaking from experience but he thinks maybe he is and maybe their friendship is not as solid as the brunette had always believed it to be. Then again, maybe this is his exact point because to be honest they have all seen each other at their _worst_ and they have never judged – they don’t judge when James is bitter and spits insults, and in return they get to be who they are on the inside without being passed judgement either.

“He might say the same thing about you,” is all Remus can really say because it’s all he can really feel, inside, no _distrust_ but this idea that Sirius and James are driven by the same motive, as they have always seem to be, _for valour_.

“He might be right moon-man,” Sirius just shrugs his shoulders – as if he doesn’t very much care about what James thinks of him, and then Remus just realises this is exactly why they are such good friends; they know each other’s darkest secrets and they do not shy away from them.

Sirius takes him to the infirmary because after all, this is a thing he does – _nice guy_ or not, it is written in the stars that when Remus gets busted up, Sirius will be there to drag his sorry butt to the infirmary, Remus is sure of it.

He thinks of how positive he had been that he no longer needed the Black boy’s help, but as Madam Pompfrey tuts and frets and Sirius just lets some of the chocolate frogs he stole off Peter bounce over his leg before viciously tearing their limbs off he thinks that maybe nobody else could manage to be quite so entertaining as a nursing maid either.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EXAMS HAPPENED. But I will try to update this bi-monthly so please look forward to the next update~


	8. Be it Fish or Slug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want to become an animagus?” Remus feels like maybe Sirius has been kind of grooming him for this – all these titbits and little hints he had been fed, all led up to this one moment in time where Sirius proposes they do something ridiculously advanced magicy for no other reason than him finding the idea entertaining, apparently.
> 
> “Why not?” Sirius shrugs, waving his notes under Remus’ nose, “I bet I could do it! Chant a little, hold a leaf in my mouth a couple of weeks, a potion and POOF! Coolest animal you’ve ever seen, I bet!”
> 
> “Please,” Remus says exasperated, “I bet this hidden part of you, deep down inside where no one, not even yourself, can find it, will turn out to be a fish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoooo before I get comments saying shit about how this isn't canon and they became animagi later and together likeeeee babe this is fanfiction ok i am the fan this is my fiction you roll with it or no

# Be it Fish or Slug

It’s almost summer now – he hasn’t seen the others since breakfast after they’d decided to raid Hogsmeade through the new passageway they had discovered only two nights ago. Remus had been there upon its original discovery and though he was always a big fan of chocolate he also hadn’t slept straight in two weeks due to exam stress and he had no intention of spending a free Saturday in the damp underground that boiled hot during the days.

With his exam of Ancient Runes on Monday it is far more sensible – albeit a little boring – to spend his weekend studying.

And so he finds himself firmly planted underneath one of the big oaks by the lake, flanked by a tower of his textbooks and notes, and a seconds smaller tower of sweets to keep him thoroughly enthralled. Lily had joined him for most of the morning but they had slacked off and spent most of their time reading the ghastly Muggle magazines her mother sent her – finding out whether or not they were good kissers which they both, red-cheeked claimed was just _silly_ seeing how they’d never kissed anyone before.

He had been rather grateful for her company, until Marlene showed up – lately the blonde had gotten a rather annoying fascination with Sirius, and she _never_ shut up about him when he wasn’t around to hear her rave – and the two of them wandered off back to the castle for lunch, Lily casting him a broad smile over her shoulder as she went.

The next hour he manages to cramp most of the first chapters into his head and he then goes over his notes to check his exercises – it is around this time that Sirius appears almost as if out of thin air, painfully nonchalant as he shrugs off his outer robes and flops down in the space next to Remus, a thick library book under each arm.

Things had been tense with James for about a week before all of them had just kind of fallen back into a rhythm, and the two ravens had barely spent any time apart since then. They both had their Muggle Studies test the next day and had taken to studying by hiding under the invisibility cloak and spying on Remus and Lily as the redhead explained the material to him as a manner of revision – he would have never guessed Sirius had planned on _actually studying_ for a course he had always claimed was _so easy Peter could pass if he filled in the test sheet with his eyes closed and his arms tied behind his back_.

The books he’s carrying are far too thick however, and as he opens one to a familiar page, Remus wants to roll his eyes because _of course_ Sirius had not planned on studying – what a fool he’d been.

“So what do you think then?” Sirius asks as if they’re continuing a conversation they’d been having mere seconds before.

Remus is pretty sure his face has _what the fuck_ written all over it because Sirius sighs in a way that implies he carries the biggest burden of having the absolute stupidest friends – he rolls his eyes as he jabs at the picture of the wizard transforming into a bird, “becoming an animagus. How about it?”

“ _You_ want to become an animagus?” Remus feels like maybe Sirius has been kind of grooming him for this – all these titbits and little hints he had been fed, all led up to this one moment in time where Sirius proposes they do something ridiculously advanced magicy for no other reason than him finding the idea entertaining, apparently.

“Why not?” Sirius shrugs, waving his notes under Remus’ nose, “I bet I could do it! Chant a little, hold a leaf in my mouth a couple of weeks, a potion and POOF! Coolest animal _you_ ’ve ever seen, I bet!”

“Please,” Remus says exasperated, “I bet this hidden part of you, deep down inside where no one, not even yourself, can find it, will turn out to be a _fish_.”

Sirius _barks_ his laughter, head thrown back and feet stomping at the soil. Remus takes advantage of the moment to glance over the Black boy’s unruly notes; apparently he would somehow have to find a mandrake leaf and make sure he kept it in his mouth at all time for a month to then use it in a potion of which the recipe ran all the way down the long parchment, and counted more ingredients than Remus had ever seen in any recipe before.

“Or you know,” Remus tries not to make it obvious that he had been staring at the scribbles but it’s hard to hide when he knows his voice and eyes alike are glittering with barely hidden excitement, “knowing your inner traits, a _slug_.”

Sirius is grinning now, and Remus loathes to think why.

“Care to find out?” he asks and his hair is black and his brows are black and his eyes are _stars_ lighting up his dark face and Remus thinks he must be stupid, to think that there could ever be any other answer to that question than a loud-and-clear resounding _yes_.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im embarrassed at how long it took me to update such a short chapter but its because ive been busy writing this story and my DRon story and I just kind of forgot that updating was a thing people do so SORRY BIMONTHLY FROM NOW ON HOPEFULLY YES
> 
> if I forget leave a comment saying im the worse bitch ok?


	9. Midnight flower picking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You took me all the way into the forbidden forest under the pretence of mapping the area for some stupid flowers?” Remus wants to be angry but he finds that he can’t because Sirius is looking at him with light exploding behind his eyes and his teeth are showing he’s smiling so broad.

# Midnight Flower Picking

Remus can _not_ breathe – or perhaps it’s the exact opposite and he’s breathing _too much_ because he’s panting, and his leather shoes are digging into the soil and they’ve been fourth years for literally two days and now they’re going to _die_. He’s literally _only_ fourteen, he’s not _ready_ to die.

Sirius doesn’t even seem _bothered_ and he’s always running out right in front of Remus, just a little ahead – and it’s dark too, _pitch black_ and they can’t see the stars this deep into the forest but Remus _knows_ , like he knows that if they reach a clearing there will be a cascade of starlight, that the raven is reaching out for him, _reaching back_ and trying to urge him to run _faster_ as if willpower alone can save them.

“You’re a fucking _werewolf_ ,” Sirius manages to howl louder than the wind and at the same time sound so fucking _done_ with his friend.

Remus is not amused. There is no time for them to stop and discuss the semantics of wolf versus werewolf in human form and Sirius is just being _mean_.

He hears the scuffling behind of him and the tell-tale sound of too many paws and with the light of any God above guiding him he manages to draw energy from his tired bones and speeds up, bypassing Sirius as he goes.

“Do you want to get _eaten_?” he bites back and there’s _no_ bite, there’s barely even _breath_ and he’s pretty sure he’s wheezing but then he feels Sirius brush up against him and he’s pretty sure the boy doesn’t care.

Their hands meet in a frenzy – Sirius’s fingers almost squeeze so hard they break bone and he feels the boy’s thumping pulse against his own skin and it’s kind of really fucking beautiful.

Next thing he knows they’re both falling over the thick roots of the blasted trees and Remus thinks again _I’m going to die_ as he sprawls over the forest floor and scrambles to get to his feet.

Then Sirius is just _pulling him_ , not even caring if his grip is too tight, fingers curled around his wrist and _going_. Seconds later they reach an illuminated area with light falling between the trees and then Remus jumps over a plane of rocks and Sirius nearly twists his ankles and they’re out of the woods and into the shadows of the greenhouses.

Remus realises the sound of thundering paws has stopped and the night sky fills with pained howls of the wolves that dare not breach the limits of the forest. They don’t stop running, not until they reach greenhouse eight and duck behind the stone wall to where old rows of unused plant pots hide an entrance to the castle.

“I am so disappointed in you moon-man,” Sirius pants out – he has no energy to reach out and look for the entrance among the old ceramics now, so he just flops down terribly ungracefully, pulling Remus with him as he goes.

Sirius’s heartbeat is still thudding into Remus’s wrists. Their jeans are torn at the knees, he notices, and blood is gushing down his leg. Sirius’s face is scratched and his shirt is barely clinging to his body – Remus keeps on replaying the image in his head, how they had been bickering as they discussed the distance they had tracked into the forest and they had been _too loud_ and then before Remus knew what happened Sirius was flat on his face and a wolf the size of a small sofa was crushing its paw into the dark shoulder and then he had used _incendio_ and had sent the animal off howling and they had been running ever since because if there was one thing they were both certain of it’s that wolves travel in packs.

“I set a wolf on _fire_ ,” Remus bites back because he _had_ and Sirius should have the decency to be at least a little awed about that.

“You _are_ a _wolf_ ,” the raven is squeezing at him, _harder_ , “couldn’t you have just barked it away?”

“ _You_ wanted to map the _forest_ ,” Remus wants to wave his hands around to emphasize his frustration but he just doesn’t have the _strength_ for it, “I’m not a wolf _right now_!”

Sirius doesn’t say anything. He smells like blood. His pulse is still hammering against Remus’s skin and for the first time in what feels like ages Remus can breathe again.

When he glances over at Sirius the boy is shivering – there’s blood caked into his shirt but for some stupid reason he’s grinning and when he brings his free hand into his lap he’s clinging on to black flowers and Remus’s eye twitches.

He had heard of the black flowers that allegedly grew in the darkness of the forest, and he had heard Sirius complain about how they’d been out in the forest millions of times without ever having seen them, and now here they were, magically popping up in Sirius’s hands, and Remus was just supposed to believe it was a coincidence? Fuck that shit, there was nothing coincidental about _anything_ concerning Sirius Black.

“You took me all the way into the forbidden forest under the pretence of mapping the area for some _stupid flowers_?” Remus wants to be angry but he finds that he can’t because Sirius is looking at him with light exploding behind his eyes and his teeth are showing he’s smiling so broad.

He can’t help it – he smiles, too, because Sirius looks _happy_ , with his bloody face and his dirty knees and torn shirt, maybe this is the happiest Remus has ever seen him.

“Let me take you to madam Pomfrey,” it feels weird saying it instead of having it be said to him but Sirius’s grin doesn’t waver.

“No chance in hell,” Sirius moves off his arse slowly, his hand sweaty in Remus’s as he urges the brunette to follow suit, “come on.”

They move over to the next greenhouse, where Sirius with his bloody torn shoulder uses a simple alohomora to unlock the old wooden doors and they slip into the quiet humid area, Sirius’s pulse still thundering with adrenaline.

Sirius watches the door as Remus slips in and carefully snips off a single leaf of the full-grown mandragora plants in the corner. They are shuffling in their pots, but their voices are muffled in the earth and they pose no threat. He clips off a second for good measure because knowing Sirius he’s going to fuck up on his first try anyway, and then he slips them in the pockets of his robes and slinks back to where Sirius is on the look-out.

As they head back to greenhouse eight they hear the wolves in the forest howl again, and the sky is remarkably clear now, setting the greenhouses alight. Sirius’s face is screwed up with concentration, as if keeping his face in such an awkward twist is going to keep the pain at bay.

When Remus pushes the ceramics away to reveal the single black brick amongst the red ones and goes to push it, Sirius stops him suddenly, hand on Remus’s shoulders. Remus’s knees are stinging.

“I need to pot these,” Sirius says, gingerly holding out the flowers he managed to pluck during all the commotion.

He just looks at him for a moment. In the starlight his hair is almost silver, and despite the scratch on his face and the blood trickling ever so eerily down his collarbone, he still manages to look like a child, regarding the world with awe and no apprehension. As if they haven’t just been chased by wolves and as if they haven’t just stolen potion ingredients and as if they’re not both stinky with sweat and grime and the copper tang of blood.

Remus doesn’t know what to say, so he just takes one of the old flower pots in his free hand, before nudging the black brick with his foot, the hidden passageway revealing itself. Sirius goes down first, more gentle than he has ever been, and as he slides down into the warmth of the castle Remus tries to reposition the pots as to not cause any suspicion next time professor Sprout spots them, only to then follow his friend.

They don’t speak for a while after that, both visibly deflated. Sirius’s boots make slurping sounds against the tiles from where he stepped into mud earlier, and Remus’s pants legs are sticking to his sore knees.

Remus carries the ceramic plant pot in his free arm and lets Sirius kind of squeeze the other into a pulp. The raven uses weird hand movements to signal the direction they will be taking, and they hide behind statues and tapestries at the smallest sound. Sirius’s heart is still beating too fast, Remus can feel it pressing into his own skin as if it’s taking up all the space – his face looks calm, but his skin is up in goosebumps and his shoulder is slumping.

He carries the pot all the way up to the tower, and their steps are the only noise to break the silence of the night as they reach the last flight of stairs. He can’t believe he thought he was dying and now they’re here and he’s carrying ceramics and holding Sirius Black’s hand.

In the dormitory James and Peter’s beds are still empty, a sign that they have not yet returned from their trip mapping the south part of the castle. He takes Sirius into the bathroom and puts the plant pot next to the bath tub and then when he looks back at Sirius it’s like he sees him for the first time.

Sirius takes off his torn shirt without a word and then Remus uses a wash cloth to clean his back and chest. There are claw scratches over Sirius’s shoulder blade and one claw has even cut into his collar bone – it has stopped bleeding now, but it looks rather deep, and even though Remus knows they should see madam Pomfrey or at least get some murtlap essence he knows the raven will disagree.

Instead of arguing he carefully daps the wound clean with a wet cloth and then looks for some disinfecting potion in their mediwitch case. Sirius is shivering under his fingers, but he is not crying – it’s just not a thing that Sirius is prone to do, he thinks – and when Remus wraps the dark shoulder in bandages he lets out a sigh that is more relief than anything else.

They mess around while they take off their jeans and then mess around with the shower sprinkler too, as they wash the grime and blood off their busted up knees and it _stings_ , Remus thinks, but he’s also smiling really big, so big his cheeks hurt.

He lets Sirius use his pyjamas – the phoenix feather ones – because as if by some divine miracle he for once is not the broken-bodied-boy of the dorm, and Sirius dives under Peter’s bed as if his body isn’t aching and throws some chocolate Remus’s way and then after they’ve devoured four bars each he looks at the flower pot by the sink and at the flowers on the bed and he looks lost suddenly. As if he was never hurt by the affliction of his body, but the doubt of what to do with these little blessings he plucked is too painful to bare.

It’s also really stupid because he got them out root and all and there’s earth on his sheets now.

He takes the pot and sets it on the windowsill closest to Sirius’s four poster and then Sirius buries the roots in the earth and uses his wand to sprinkle water on them and in the dim candle light the flowers seem to shake their petals as a bird would its feathers and they settle down gently again.

They lay on Sirius’s bed waiting for James and Peter to come back and Sirius draws a star-chart in the air with his fingers and laughs as Remus creates a bunny and then a dog in the shadows on the wall and when Remus remembers the mandrake leaf and hands it over Sirius is not phased, merely puts it in his mouth, right under his tongue, and then uses a sticking spell for good measure.

He looks over at Remus expectantly as if he’s expecting a treat for good behaviour.

“Well?” he says, slurring a little awkwardly around the leaf.

“What?”

“Where’s yours?” Sirius pries, dark brows frowning.

“Sirius…” Remus isn’t sure what to say to that because he simply hasn’t considered the possibility that when Sirius proposed they do something extremely advanced magicy he’d actually meant for _them_ to do it, _together_ , “there’s a full moon in twelve days. You have to hold the leaf under your tongue for a full moon cycle.”

He says that because it’s the only way he knows to explain – and he’s a little disappointed in himself, now, too, setting a wolf afire or no – and he draws his fingers up in the air and shapes the moon cycle there, in the air between their broken bodies and the burgundy drapes.

Sirius is still looking at the way his fingers trace the outline of a full moon when he murmurs, “I am not disappointed in you. I already know what animal you’re hiding inside of you, and I bet it will be a glorious sight to see.”

He doesn’t say anything because even though he doesn’t understand it, he knows Sirius _means_ it.

The next day over breakfast Sirius is constantly throwing him looks and almost gagging and it’s kind of like an inside joke because only the two of them know that he is now chewing all his food with a mandrake leaf in his mouth and it’s not funny, but Remus laughs anyway.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummm I legit love this chapter?? I think it's my fav chapter?? HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT


	10. Battle Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius’s feet pad over the tiled floor and even though Remus is expecting it he still kind of jumps at the sensation of fingertips against his shoulder blade.
> 
> “He held me down,” it’s a faint whisper, as Sirius’s palm presses exactly where the pad of Fenrir’s claw had, “there, and,” Sirius’s fingers press were Fenrir’s claw had, and it’s really funny how eerily similar the left-over scar is to the one Sirius bares now, too, “he bit me,” Remus tugs his shirt up higher to reveal the base of his neck, “there.”

# 10 Battle Wounds

It’s two weeks later and it’s an accident – because James and Peter are re-enacting one of the muggle wars Lily talked about earlier and they’re using their wands as swords and making over-exaggerated battle-sounds and so he is not to blame when he doesn’t realise the shower is running and when he comes back from his trip to the library he makes a wild dash for the bathroom only to find out with his jeans already down his hips that it’s not vacant.

As always, Sirius has this permanent air of aloofness about him, and he merely looks at his friend over his shoulder with one thick eyebrow raised to meet his soapy mop of hair. He’s also very naked, and he has a lot of _skin_ , inches and inches of beautiful alabaster, with sharp shoulder blades running down into sharp hips and his plump—

Remus stops his train of thought there because finishing that line of thinking is impossibly dangerous and he _knows_ it. He must look silly, he realises, with his belt dangling loose and he feels a blush heaten his cheeks.

While pretending not to look he kind of looks, _again_ , and it’s then that he finally notices the scar their midnight stroll resulted in. Sirius rinses the suds from his hair and kind of brings it over his left shoulder and it’s then that he sees it – the skin is slightly darker and swollen there, three claw marks fawning out from the same centre and running to the front, like deep dark gashes still left in the flesh.

And it was really—

“Quite hideous, isn’t it?” Sirius turns off the tap and reaches for his towel – if Remus thought he had been subtle, he was obviously mistaken.

He’s not sure what comes over him, because he’s done a lot of stupid things in his life and he always knows exactly what he’s thinking at the moment that he decides to do them – usually “ _fuck this shit_ ” or “ _dear dragon dung_ ” or a combination of both – and there’s not a single thought coherent right now and it’s as if he’s just kind of going through the motions.

So he does something he would ordinarily never do; he shrugs off his outer robes briskly, dropping them to the floor and then he shucks at his shirt awkwardly and hoists it up to reveal his own scarred back, turning it to Sirius without any further explanation.

It takes a moment for anything to happen, because Sirius is wrapping a towel around his hips and a second one around his hair like a turban. It takes just that small moment, the tiniest of moments really, in hindsight, before Remus hears a gasp leaving those pink lips and he _knows_.

If he closes his eyes he can feel the humid summer night and the heavy hot breath against his neck and he remembers exactly what it felt like. He shudders.

Sirius’s feet pad over the tiled floor and even though Remus is expecting it he still kind of jumps at the sensation of fingertips against his shoulder blade.

“He held me down,” it’s a faint whisper, as Sirius’s palm presses exactly where the pad of Fenrir’s claw had, “there, and,” Sirius’s fingers press were Fenrir’s claw had, and it’s really funny how eerily similar the left-over scar is to the one Sirius bares now, too, “he bit me,” Remus tugs his shirt up higher to reveal the base of his neck, “there.”

He’s not sure Sirius is even listening. The short nails dig into the skin ever so gently, as if measuring the size of his hand to the size the paw had been. Remus knows exactly what it looks like – he has the habit of checking on it every now and then, his oldest and deepest scar, and how the process of fading is going. It’s almost white, healed very unevenly as his five-year-old self could never stop picking at the scabs, and though it had covered most of his back as a small child, it had never grown with him, and instead had portioned out.

To his five-year-old self Fenrir’s claw had been huge, and he knew that even as Sirius matched his hand across the print, the boy’s hand would seemingly drown in it. He imagines what Sirius’s skin must look like against the whiteness of the scar, and then he can’t think of anything else anymore.

When he feels a wet featherlike pressure against his shoulder instead, he’s pretty sure his chest gives way and his heart flutters right out; _gone_ , because Sirius’s lips are like velvet and their touch is _sin_.

He’s not sure how long they stand there. He can feel Sirius’s damp skin even though they’re not touching – it’s more like an _awareness_ that he’s behind him and still wet, more than anything else. His lips don’t leave for what feels like blissful _hours_.

And then just as suddenly he is gone – and not just his lips but _all of him_ , the air shifts and his feet make slick slurping sounds on the slick tiles and the door creaks.

“I’m not sorry,” he says, and then for a moment there’s the overwhelming sound of Peter and James pretending to die heroically and the door closes.

And then there is nothing.

 

\--

 

He’s fourteen and he contemplates falling in love. Then he remembers all the scars his sweaters hide and mood swings he experiences once a month and the care he needs and he decides not to contemplate it again.

 

\--

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just getting warmed up with this. I missed Moonstar so much I just couldn't not write them anew.


End file.
